Chapter 52: Pill of Longevity

The Qingyun Martial Arts Academy was located in the slums of the western district of the imperial capital.

It stood in stark contrast to the resplendent Royal Martial Academy.

To describe it as dilapidated would be an understatement.

Ramshackle—now that was the word that best captured the current state of the Qingyun Martial Arts Academy.

While the Royal Martial Academy occupied a fifth of the eastern district, Qingyun was reduced to a yard that looked more like a rubbish heap.

It was hard to imagine that this ruinous courtyard was once the pride of the Great Qian Dynasty, the very academy that had surpassed the Royal Martial Academy to claim the title of the finest institution in the land.

“Forgive me, I’m too lazy to tidy up. It’s a bit messy, but please don’t mind,” Mo Xingyun said, taking a swig of wine, his face betraying not the slightest hint of embarrassment.

He was a man of unrestrained temperament, and after suffering a crushing defeat and falling into decline, he sought only oblivion in wine, caring little for the world or its affairs.

“It’s no matter. A place to rest is all that’s needed,” replied Jun Wushuang, unperturbed.

His gaze had long since transcended the mundane; he had no desire for comfort or luxury.

“Young master, allow me to tidy up!” Lin Mengyao rolled up her sleeves and set to work.

By now, Lin Mengyao had learned that she had awakened the Nine Stars talent and the Sacred Body of Ten Thousand Swords. Yet her attitude remained unchanged—still considering herself the young master’s maid, she felt it her duty to tend to his daily needs.

“Rare is such talent, rarer still is such character,” thought Mo Xingyun. “To have a young master like him is her fortune!”

Watching Lin Mengyao work without complaint, Mo Xingyun nodded in satisfaction.

Geniuses were never in short supply.

But those who could rise to greatness and reach the pinnacle of martial cultivation were few indeed.

Genius often breeds arrogance—such was the norm.

Not just for the likes of Nangong Tianxuan and Nangong Lei, scions of privilege and prodigy, but even the so-called geniuses from small backwaters strutted about with their noses in the air.

Lin Mengyao, a paragon born with the Sacred Body, was the equal of the Crown Prince of Great Qian. Yet she displayed not a trace of arrogance, remaining willing to do humble tasks.

Such talent pleased Mo Xingyun all the more.

And he understood well—her temperament owed much to Jun Wushuang’s influence.

“Headmaster, fine steeds abound, but true talent-spotters are rare. I hope you will teach her when you have time,” Jun Wushuang said, voicing his wishes.

He had sent Lin Mengyao to test her potential, partly to humble the Royal Martial Academy, but mostly to attract Mo Xingyun’s attention.

Although Lin Mengyao was an incarnation of the Empress Qinglian’s soul, she was still young and inexperienced. Jun Wushuang himself had little time to guide her.

Entrusting her to Mo Xingyun was the best choice.

Mo Xingyun—a former prodigy of Great Qian, now fallen, but still a formidable sword cultivator of the Heavenly King Realm.

With his strength, he was more than capable of teaching Lin Mengyao.

But above all, Jun Wushuang valued his character.

With the insights of one who had lived two lives, Jun Wushuang had seen through countless people.

That day, Mo Xingyun had drawn his sword to help the oppressed, acting decisively with no hesitation.

Moreover, after witnessing Lin Mengyao’s talent, he had not demanded to take her as his disciple.

All these things spoke volumes of his character.

Jun Wushuang was confident he had not misjudged him.

“You want me to take her as a disciple?” Mo Xingyun caught Jun Wushuang’s meaning, but looked bewildered.

He was strong as a sword cultivator, but Lin Mengyao was a Sacred Body prodigy.

To be frank, her talent would make her more than worthy to apprentice under a Saint.

He was no great figure; Qingyun Martial Arts Academy had long since fallen, stripped of all power and prestige.

And with only two years left to live, taking Lin Mengyao as a disciple would be like burying a pearl in the mud.

Though he had once been tempted, in the end, he let go of such unrealistic hopes.

“I believe you are the most suitable teacher for her,” Jun Wushuang said with a gentle smile, affirming Mo Xingyun’s guess.

“This… this…” Mo Xingyun was so overwhelmed by this stroke of luck that he was at a loss for words.

A genius cultivator with the Sacred Body, and a sword cultivator, no less—of course he wished to accept such a disciple.

But considering his own situation, he hesitated.

“Better not. I have only two years left; with her talent, I should not be the one to hold her back,” he finally said, shaking his head with difficulty.

He truly did not wish to lead such a talent astray.

“What if I can cure you?” Jun Wushuang asked, smiling, his eyes clear.

What?

Cure me?

Mo Xingyun trembled, staring at Jun Wushuang in disbelief.

But soon, he sighed.

“Ten years ago, in my battle with Jiang Taixu, I used a forbidden technique at the last moment, burning my lifespan. That’s not an illness—it cannot be healed or reversed.”

“I once sought the help of the Azure Pill King, but even he was powerless. You couldn't possibly cure me either.”

If there was a chance to live, who would choose to wait for death?

But the burning of one’s lifespan could not be undone.

Knowing his days were numbered, Mo Xingyun had resigned himself to a drunken existence, burying all his dreams and ambitions in wine.

If even the Azure Pill King was helpless, how could Jun Wushuang, a mere sixth-level cultivator of the Myriad Forms Realm, have a solution?

“Do you know why the Duke of South entrusted me with his command token?” Jun Wushuang asked, producing the Duke's token.

It was an item of great value; the Duke of South never lent it lightly, let alone gave it away.

“Three months ago, the Duke of South suffered a violent outbreak of lethal yin poison. I saved him, and he gave me this token in gratitude.”

Yin poison!

Mo Xingyun’s expression changed—he knew well how deadly it was.

“I possess a pill, the Longevity Eternal Pill. One is enough to extend your life,” Jun Wushuang continued, brimming with confidence.

The Longevity Eternal Pill!

Mo Xingyun had never heard of it, but if Jun Wushuang could cure the Duke of South’s yin poison, perhaps he truly could help him.

For a moment, Mo Xingyun’s face shifted from green to white as he sank into deep hesitation.

“I am a dying man—what is there I cannot face?” he finally declared. “Whether you can save me or not, I am willing to teach Lin Mengyao. She is the most gifted sword cultivator I have ever seen!”

“As for the Longevity Eternal Pill, if you can make it, wonderful. If not, then so be it.”

Mo Xingyun laughed heartily, at peace at last.

“Young master, I’m almost done tidying up!” Lin Mengyao hurried over, wiping the sweat from her brow and speaking respectfully.

“Lin Mengyao, would you be willing to take me as your master?” Mo Xingyun’s gaze burned as he looked at her.

Lin Mengyao started in surprise, not understanding.

Jun Wushuang smiled and nodded at her.

“What young master decides is always right. I am willing!” Lin Mengyao trusted Jun Wushuang implicitly, and without hesitation, knelt to become Mo Xingyun’s disciple.

“Good, good, good!” Mo Xingyun laughed, all traces of despair swept away.

“Master!” Just then, Master Wu came hurriedly from outside.

“My lord, the prince requests an audience!”